Shit faced and Schmooed

Whilst shopping late last evening at the grocery store, I felt a bit like a city girl traveling through an old cowboy town. The reason for that? I was perusing the fine periodical department when a dude came up the aisle. My gut told me to get away from that guy, he’s a creep. I moved my carriage out of his way, and finishing with my magazine, headed onto the dairy department. Creepy Magazine Aisle dude suddenly appeared in the same aisle, all smiles. He said, “you are incredibly gorgeous.” (Yep, I know, see that’s my goal. I make myself “incredibly gorgeous” for drunkards.) I mumbled, made no eye contact and tried to move on to the bakery department. Only he then proceeded to ask me what I was doing after this. After this? What am I doing after food shopping? *palm to forehead slap* Most nights it was easy to forget there was a tavern in the same shopping center as the grocery store. But tonight, this adventure was reminiscent of a girl in an old Western movie encountering some idgit who’s just stepped out of a saloon. I actually handled it quite well, Schmooie, and I didn’t even need you. I told him I had to go take care of my husband and pointed to some guy walking toward me. Schmooie, thanks a lot. I blame you for the drunken men coming on to me. Seems drunkards have no problem with approaching me, so why do you, fool?

Secret Security Schmooie

Dear Cute Security Guard who works at the place I am typing this from,

You’ve had your eye on me for awhile, thank you for finally chatting me up tonight and walking me to my car. Although you are Roman Catholic and it would never work out, you made my weekend. It wasn’t a bad weekend, but it wasn’t great either. See, I went to this Jewish Young Professionals party for a Jewish holiday called Purim, and a bunch of people were crowded together in the room. You might expect a lot of elbowing to be a conversation starter, but with so many stupid girls who decided to bring their boyfriends (or show off?) if made it difficult for us vivacious single women in the room to rule out who could be our own potential Schmooie candidates. I got so annoyed and tired of these types of parties, these “mixers,” not to mention frustrated, that I went to the car and threw on the Charlie Sheen t-shirt my friend dared me to buy but never expected me to actually wear to the party. It was the highlight of the event, a real conversation starter. I’ve decided the next time I go to such a thing, I may just intentionally give these show off girls a piece of their own medicine and really flirt up their loser boyfriends.

Oh, and by the way, Mr. Cute Security Guard, you should’ve seen the next day, my Sunday morning. I went to a Jewish softball game. Turns out it’s not such a hot way to meet young Jewish males. Most of the males were older gentlemen who didn’t want to grow up. Someone had convinced me to get out of my nice warm bed early on a cloudy, cold, last day of winter Sunday morning, and schlep 33 miles to a stupid ballpark. This same someone, I’m sure, couldn’t understand why I didn’t feel like playing softball and why I might have been acting passive aggressive. See, I discovered then and there that I hate softball. I did, however, enjoy watching the adult kickball competition going on in the next field, but that’s another non-Schmooie related story.

So, Mr. Cute Security Guard, I am glad that you finally chatted me up tonight. You made me realize that it was just an off weekend, and that maybe there is still potential for a guy named Schmooie to find me, like me, and chat me up as eagerly as you did. Have a nice night, and until next time, Mr. Cute Security Guard. Now really, get back to work, dude.  

Schmooie the Bean

If Mr. Bean was Schmooie, it'd probably look a bit like this (although, I think this girl might be a tad too hard on ole Bean. I mean, come on, it's Mr. Bean! He's awesome!)